Page 47 of Levi

I could probably get an engagement ring by morning.

Wait. What?

Back up, buddy.

Tonight's about her, not locking her down.

Do I want to lock her down?

“You're sure this is what you want?” I ask, and she just nods. “Come on, Angel, use your words. Do you want me to fuck your throat tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” she says again, and my dick twitches between us, something we both notice.

“Good girl, always using your manners when you want my cock.”

She just nods.

“Take me out,” I demand, and her fingers work my thick length out in no time. The single touch of her delicate fingers sends spasms through my body.

“Spit on it. Make me wet,” I growl. She spits, then her tongue slides out and licks around my cock, covering every inch, before leaning back on her heels.

“More,” I command, grabbing her chin. “Open.”

Her lips open as I cup her face. Leaning down, I spit into her mouth. “Now suck.”

Her eyes flash with lust as she pushes forward and takes my cock in her mouth, sliding me all the way back, our combined spit lubricating me, letting my cock slide down even further. Fuck. She feels so good.

The sound of her gliding her mouth up and down my dick flips a switch inside me, and suddenly, I'm feral and needing her, now. I give her a second to get used to me, get her rhythm down, but I can't hang on for long. Before I know it, my hands are in her hair, and I've taken control, my cock sliding in and out of her mouth, and I move my hand to her throat to feel her taking me. I squeeze my hand as I hit the back, doing it over and over, holding her there to get used to me.

Squeezing her throat a little tighter, I hold her still as I slowly slide out, her tongue rolling around my cock like it’s her favorite flavor lollipop before I’m shoving back in her mouth. She moans, the vibration off her tongue hitting my cock just right, and I could come right now. I’m close, but I don’t want to come unless she does.

“That's it, Quinn. You're such a fucking good girl, taking my cock like the perfect whore you are,” I tell her, and her eyes roll back at my words. She holds me in even longer this time. “Touch yourself. I want to see you make yourself come with my dick down your throat.”

She listens, quickly slipping her hand between her legs to touch where she needs it most.

It’s all too much, watching her touch herself, the feeling of her throat suffocating my cock, and I’m damn near about to blow.

“I want you to come with me,” I tell her, and she nods quickly, her hand starting to move quicker as she plays with her clit and that’s it…that’s all I needed.

With a few more pumps of my hips, I’m about to come.

“Keep your mouth open.” I groan as I pull out. “And don’t youdareswallow.”

Gripping my cock, I pump myself the last few times before painting her tongue with my cum. My little fallen angel, for me to save, for me to fuck, and for me to dirty up—just how I like it.

Looking down at her with her mascara streaking down her cheeks, intermixed with tears from choking on my cock, she looks fucking perfect. It’s not even because I can still see my cum on her tongue either, although that doesn’t hurt. It’s because, at this moment, she’s given herself to me completely, proving just how deep her trust in me runs. Being someone who values trust so much, I see that as the sexiest thing ever, and it makes me feel worthy of being someone she can trust.

“Swallow,” I command, pulling her head back by her braid, my other hand still wrapped around her throat and feeling every movement of her muscles as she does.

Sliding one hand from her hair and removing my other from her throat, I kneel down in front of her and just take her in, but that’s when I notice the marks on her neck. They’re just red marks, but I panic.

“Fuck, Q, I’m so sorry I hurt you,” I tell her, grabbing her hands in mine and pulling her closer, trying to get a better look at them. But she just looks at me, confused, almost in a daze, as I freak out.

“Huh? You hurt me?” she asks.

“Your neck…there’re marks. Fuck, I’m so sorry. You should have told me it was too tight. I would’ve stopped the second you told me. Fuck,” I ramble, one hand running through my hair while the other keeps touching her like I’m afraid she’s going to start bleeding or something.

“I know that, and if I had wanted—or needed—you to stop, I would have asked you to, or I would have used my safe word. What’s the point in us having a safe word if you’re not going to trust me to use it?”

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